Unbearable Roommates

My friends, coworkers, and the coffee barista who I think thinks I'm stupid warned me. They said adult siblings make the worst roommates, but I figured my roommate is going to end up hating me no matter who it is.

The first week my brother David and I were okay; we kept the common areas clean and our music volume low and our sobbing at night to a maximum. The second week we started fighting because I invited his Japanese girlfriend pillow to watch TV and eat cheese with me. Pillows get lonely too. I don’t know why he freaked out about it. It’s not like the friendship bracelet I made for it clashed with the anime art. The third week he turned into a bear.

I sat at the table slurping coffee, watching medical soap operas on my lap top, living life to the fullest. Around 2:00, the grizzly bear lumbered out of David’s bedroom on all fours and sauntered into the kitchen with a judgy sniff at Gray's Anatomy. Balancing on its haunches, it placed both paws on the table and slurped up some of my coffee.

“Excuse me,” I muttered sleepily. “Get your own coffee.”

Whining, he nuzzled me, which is bear language for either ‘I love you’ or ‘I don’t have opposable thumbs. Get the coffee for me before I eat you.’ I poured him a cup of coffee and Bear David, suckled it, spilling more than he consumed, much like human David.

When I got home from work, my leftover salmon curry had been devoured, with complete bearlike disregard for my name which I had labelled all over everything. The pile of bills I was supposed to pay were masticated up and saturated with slobber. That type of passive aggressive behavior is why it’s easier to live with strangers than siblings.

That night I woke up at 2:00am by a snarling sound. I poked my head out of my door and saw David lying on the floor gnawing on the bloody stump of our neighbor's leg.

"Do you have to eat so loudly?" I yawned, arms folded over my pajama shirt.

The bear looked at me for a moment, human blood dripping from its sharp white teeth, scraped its claws against the floor, and lunged at me. It stood up straight and bore down on me, breathing hot stinky torrents of carbon dioxide into my face. It shook a claw at my face and glared at me with a hungry, violent stare.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just keep it down. I don't want to wake the neighb-" I looked at the bloody leg soaked in bear spit. "Nevermind." I slammed the door and went back to bed.

After a few days of David not doing the dishes and shitting on my chair, I was almost mad enough to write him a note. When the bear was lying on the floor and I made a super hilarious joke about a bear skinned rug, he didn’t even chuckle. ‘That’s it!’ I thought. ‘It is note writing time!’ As I rummaged around for my least pretty stationary, the door opened and David walked in, in human form.

“What the hell is that?” Human David said.

“But if you’re here… who is that?” I asked, indicating the bear.

“Barbara, you idiot! Why is there a bear in our apartment?”

“Oh no! How will I ever know which is the real David? I must murder to death the imposter!” I reached for a spatula.

“That is a wild grizzly bear!”

“Quick, human David, tell me something that only the two of us know!” I raised the spatula.

“Um… You didn’t stop peeing your pants until you were in your teens… wait why am I playing along? That is a bear! And what are you doing with the spatula anyway?”

“Okay, that’s close to true. Bear David, same question…” I said.

Bear David growled.

Beating the imposter to death with a spatula was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, mainly because I didn’t do it; he ran away and I didn’t even get to draw any blood. Ten years later, at my wedding, I mentioned to David how weird that week had been, and he put his claw on my dress as if to silently say, ‘I’m proud of you, little sister. So proud.’

Out loud I lovingly replied, “I’m not your little sister. I’m older.”

And he didn’t say anything back, ornery and dejected because the special custom suit was too tight for his big hairy bear shoulders.